


The Story

by MaryDragon



Series: Noble Thief [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Gen, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Series, Spoilers, Spoilers for everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3490247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon/pseuds/MaryDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric tries to pitch a new book to his publisher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Visit

**Author's Note:**

> The way every good story starts:

“So, no shit, there I was, sopping wet, completely surrounded by-“

“Bullshit,” Malikai said, slapping his palm on the table. “There is no way you would fall for that.”

Varric shook his head. “I’m telling you, it happened.”

“Bullshit,” the dwarf said again. “As your publisher, I know what your audience will buy, and they won’t buy _that_.”

“Well, I wouldn’t start the story _there_ ,” Varric said, leaning back and dragging his tankard to sit at the edge of the table. “I was just telling you the best part.”

Malikai sighed and stood up. “I still think you should put together your rescue of that Warden you were telling me about. Call me when you’ve got a manuscript.”

“Oh, for the love of… sit down, Malikai, you’ve got to hear this. I’ll even broach a cask so you don’t have to drink from the bar.”

Malikai sighed and shook his head, but he sat down. “At least that explains why you’re willing to drink at the Hanged Man. A private reserve is about necessary here.”

Varric snatched away his publisher’s tankard and took it to a barrel in the second-floor room he’d long since claimed as his own, filling it to the brim and setting it down on the table. Malikai, who had followed him up, took the seat nearest the beer. Varric kicked out a chair and leaned forward.

“I was sitting right here, where I heard the commotion at the bar.”

 

*

 

Varric kept the Hanged Man in business by himself, it seemed. He paid extra to keep the corner room on the second floor clean and the fire burning. He bought his beer by the barrel and kept it out of the way. And his patronage encouraged his readers to seek out the seedy little tavern. Most only came once, but still – they came.

“I’m looking for Varric Tethras,” a woman’s voice called the barkeeper out of his normal half-stupor.

“You and everybody else,” he said.

A coinpurse landed on the counter, drawing his eyes up.

There were three of them, cloaked and hooded. The distinct shapes of weapons bulged beneath their cloaks, and they had a menacing air that seemed to be enhanced rather than diminished by their relatively small statures. Women, or maybe elves. But definitely armed.

The barkeeper swallowed. The speaker – dressed all in black, while the two flanking her wore mottled greys – leaned over the bar. “We know he’s here. This is for discretion, not information.”

He nodded, dragging the purse towards him, and it disappeared into his apron. He pointedly looked away.

When he risked another look up, they were gone.

 

*

 

“Varric,” the lad who fetched the wood and cleaned the floors, Alvin by name, scurried into the room. “Varric, they’re looking for _you._ ”

“What’s this now?” Varric asked, barely looking up. Malikai had been harassing him to finish the _Swords and Shields_ serial, which was selling like hot cakes in Val Royeaux. He owed the Seeker for that one.

“There’s three of them. Armed. Asking for you. At the bar.”

Varric stood and slid across the room to look out the door. Sure enough, three cloaked figures were walking away from the terrified barkeep, making a beeline for the stairs. Armed, heads covered.

Varric ran through his options, sighed, and sat back down. “Thanks, kid. Do me a favor, and hide somewhere nearby. If this goes south, run out and tell the Captain of the Guard, Aveline Vallen, everything you see. Alright?”

The boy nodded, and vanished into a nook by the stairs.

Varric leaned back and kicked his feet onto the table. “Too old for this shit,” he sighed, and calmly thumbed the safety off Bianca, keeping him company on the chair beside him.

The three figures didn’t take long to cover the distance between the bar and Varric. There were usually one or two other people in Varric’s room – business associates or people he didn’t completely hate, and withstood their company – and the black-cloaked figure cleared them out with a jerk of her chin.

“Varric,” she said as the room emptied, and the dwarf felt a grin spread across his face. He’d know that voice anywhere.

The three figures reached up and tilted their hoods back, just enough to illuminate their features from the front, and Varric’s grin turned into an open laugh.

“Alvin, get in here. And shut the door behind you.”


	2. The Hostage

“You owe the kid an apology,” Varric said to the speaker after the room emptied, gesturing at Alvin as the boy locked the door. “Scared Alvin near to death.”

She swept off  her hood and smiled at the boy. “My apologies, Alvin. It is best if nobody knows I’m here.”

The other two swept their hoods back, one with a snort. “I don’t know why _I_ couldn’t just walk in, without all the cloak and dagger bullshit. I’m here all the time.”

The third laughed happily. “This was the perfect way to visit the Hanged Man the first time, Ev, you were right. Thank you.”

“You recognize the Champion of Kirkwall, I assume,” Varric said to the boy, whose fear took a noticeable retreat. He nodded happily. “Sorry, _Viscountess_ of Kirkwall.” Hawke snorted again.

“We can trust the boy,” she said to her companions. “He has a habit of disappearing, and he’s never once told me where Varric was. Regardless of how kindly I’ve asked.”

Alvin seemed to swell under the praise.

“Very well,” the black-cloaked woman said. “Alvin, I am Evelyn, and this is my friend Moira. We need to borrow Varric.”

Varric’s smile faded. “Wait just a damn minute. There’s no borrowing Varric. I’m behind on my manuscript, I’ve got my publisher breathing down my neck, and there is _nothing_ important enough to drag me out of here.”

The three women exchanged dark looks. Evelyn reached into her bag and pulled out a filthy slip of paper that might once have been a letter. “You know too much, Varric,” Evelyn said sadly. “This was bound to happen eventually.”

 

*

 

“What do you mean, you aren’t going to tell me what was in the letter?” Malikai asked. “Isn’t that the point to the story?”

Varric shook his head. “It was a kidnapping gone wrong. A friend of mine – someone I’ve been protecting for years – was grabbed, to try to leverage me into talking. The Inquisitor was right, I do know too much. I’ve had my fingers in some of the richest pies in Thedas, and I was dumb enough to write about it. So, they grabbed my friend, figured I would trade information for a guarantee of safety. And they would have been right – I would have said just about anything.”

“Don’t trust me?”

Varric shook his head. “Its nothing personal. I’ve never told anybody – the Inquisitor just happened to be in the right place at the right time to find out.”

Varric still had the letter in his pocket, the warning still fresh in his mind. He could have recited it to Malikai from memory, had he wanted to.

 

_Inquisitor,_

_We met, once. I have heard Varric is no longer with you, but I don’t know who else to contact. I’ve seen some of your eyes in the city, I will slip this to one of them the next time I’m moved.  
You need to get to Varric first. Tell him I got sloppy, let him say he told me so. But it isn’t me they want, it’s him. Somebody figured out they can use me to get Varric to talk. I don’t understand what they want – Varric hasn’t ever been to Weisshaupt, has he? But you have to find him before they can, before he opens that gob of his and sells out his friends._

_Bianca Davri_

 

*

 

“Well, shit,” he said, reading and re-reading the letter. It was her handwriting, he’d know it anywhere.

“One of Leliana’s agents found that in their pocket at the end of the day with no idea how it got there. She read it through and then got on a horse and road straight to my door. Woke me in the middle of the night to give it to me, completely bypassing Leliana. You’re quite loved in the Inquisition, I hope you know.”

“Where was she?”

“Jader, a week ago.”

“Fuck,” Varric slapped the table. “She could be anywhere.”

“Could be,” Hawke spoke up. “But isn’t.”

“Leliana went to work immediately,” Moira chimed in. “Shipping manifests, known smuggling rings, unusual shipments. Coupled with what we know about _you_ … she’d have to be close. If you thought she was sold into slavery or given to the Qun you’d wall up. They’d have to have her somewhere that she could be used against you.”

“So she’s in the Marches,” Varric said, thinking quickly.

“She’s just outside Kirkwall,” Hawke said grimly.

“We’re not here because we need your help,” Evelyn said dryly. “We’re here because we’re absolutely convinced you’d kill us if we did this without you.”

Varric simply nodded. “Fair assessment. And you?” he asked Moira.

“It’s likely my enemies who are responsible for this. Evelyn needs a shield to hide behind, and I’d prefer it if it was mine.”

Varric looked at the three of them as if for the first time. “Wait, _you_ are the strike team? I’m _your_ fourth?”

The three women looked at each other again, smiling, and then nodded at Varric.

The grin settled back onto his features. “Let me get my gear.”


	3. Out for a Stroll

“So the Queen of Ferelden, the Inquistor, and the Viscountess of Kirkwall came together to help you rescue a friend?”

“Swallow it, Malikai, it happened. Ask Alvin.”

The boy, who almost always seemed to be near Varric, nodded vigorously. “The woman in black, Evelyn, she had bright green eyes and short reddish hair. She let me see Andraste’s Favor on her left hand, it glows green just like the stories say. She was the youngest of them. Smiled a lot, like the Champion does. The Queen… she’s darker. Brunette. Eyes are the prettiest blue. She was the tallest of the three, and when she spoke it was like music.”

Varric started chuckling. “And what did she say when you told her that?”

Alvin frowned. “She said… she said it was because she dances with a nightingale.”

Varric leaned over the table, holding his sides laughing. “Oh, when you’re old enough to understand, you’re going to love that one, Alvin. I promise you.”

Malikai knew enough to crack a smile. “So _that_ rumor is true.”

Varric waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, everybody knows about that. The Intelligencer of the Inquisition doesn’t need to spend four weeks out of the year in Denerim. They’re not even trying to hide it.”

“So why did _they_ come, Varric? That’s what is unbelievable. They have access to _armies_. And if Hawke was involved, they wouldn’t worry about it being construed as an invasion. Ferelden or the Inquisition could have simply marched in.”

“Whose secrets do you think I keep?” Varric asked, and Malikai fell silent. “None of them are the type to sit around, for starters, but the information they were protecting was of a highly _personal_ nature. And beyond that, if whoever it was got to me, they could spread whatever misinformation they wanted to, and it would be believed, because it came from _me_. Coming themselves was the best move they could make… sending an army would validate the threat, make it so my friend was never safe. Force me into hiding. No, a nice quiet solution with the fewest people involved was best. And that’s what this was.”

 

*

 

They set out the next morning. Evelyn and Moira stayed the night with Hawke, keeping a low profile. Evelyn was calling Hawke “Dove” and Moira “Switch,” and neither one of them seemed happy about it.

“As much as I disliked being called ‘Waffles’, your name isn’t any better,” Hawke grumbled as they slipped out of the gates before dawn. A discrete note to Aveline got them through with no questions, the guardsman blatantly turning aside when Hawke flashed her signet.

“We’re trying to get there and get her out with no one knowing we’re coming. We can’t accomplish that if I’m yelling ‘Hawke!’ in the middle of a fight.”

“Fine,” she said, conceding with ill grace. “But why are you calling Moira Switch?”

The Queen managed a blush, which set Evelyn to cackling wickedly. “Because she sometimes uses a shield, and she sometimes uses an offhand dagger. Of course. Why else would that _possibly_ come up?”

“I fucking hate you, Ev,” Moira muttered, and the Inquisitor was launched into a fresh wave of laughter.

“I assume you know of my arrangement with the Intelligencer of the Inquisition,” Moira said delicately to Hawke, who _all of a sudden_ understood.

“Oh, Evelyn, that’s so wrong. Fucking funny, though.”

Moira grunted. “Glad you approve.”

“I’ve got to give it to her,” Varric said from his place in the rear of their little formation, “I never would have had the testicular fortitude to call the warrior Queen of Ferelden ‘Switch.’ Especially not to her face. Knuckles has definitely grown a pair.”

“Why thank you, Varric,” the Queen and the Inquisitor said at the same time. Hawke and Varric laughed.

Marian Hawke and Moira Cousland Theirin had only just met, having been brought together on this venture by Evelyn. They were still trying to get a feel for one another, and Varric found himself listening in, fascinated, as they compared mutual acquiantances and different perspectives on the loss of Lothering in the Fifth Blight.

“The land there is dead,” Moira was saying sadly. “Blighted. Makes the Korcari wilds seem hospitable in comparison.”

“Going back was never an option for me” Hawke reassured her. “We made a new home.”

“The Inquisition is working on a counter to the Blight,” Evelyn chimed in, having been silent while the other two women talked. The sun was slowly climbing into the sky overhead, but they hadn’t encountered another soul since leaving Kirkwall.

“Like a cure for the Wardens?” Hawke asked, eyeing Moira sideways.

“No, we got that. I mean a counter-agent we could spread on land or in the Deep Roads, something that will specifically kill the blight, remove the taint from the soil.”

“You’ve turned the Inquisition against the darkspawn, eh?” Varric asked.

Evelyn shrugged. “It was always turned against the darkspawn, if you think of Corypheus as the ultimate source of the Blight. And a big, centuries-old, likely unsolvable problem is just the thing I needed to keep Dagna on the payroll.”

“Haven’t the Wardens been working on that forever?” Hawke asked, notably quieter since the conversation had turned to wardens and the blight.

“They have,” Moira confirmed. “But they were always limited by those they were willing to recruit. Minds like Dagna don’t generally become Wardens, so they don’t get access to the kind of information they could actually use. What we really needed was the resources of the Inquisition, minds like Dagna and Dorian, and a defunct warden commander who’s willing to share secrets.”

It was Varric’s turn to grunt. “Which is what brings us to this lovely endeavor.”

Moira winced. “Sorry, Varric. That probably does have a lot to do with this.”

“So, this cure…” Hawke ventured.

“Send your brother to Skyhold, if he’s interested,” Evelyn replied, cutting to the heart of the matter. “Send anybody to Skyhold, even if its only Blight sickness.”

“Is it safe?”

Evelyn shrugged. “We currently have a 100% survival rate. That doesn’t make it _safe_ by any stretch of the imagination, but we were confident enough to use it on the King and Queen of Ferelden. You’ll note they’re both alive and well.”

“So you’re not… you’re not a Warden anymore?”

Moira shook her head. “No, and it’s a good thing, too. Wardens can’t conceive.”

“Ah, so our little heir is thanks to the Inquisition?”

Moira grinned. “She is indeed.”

“Where are the girls, by the way?” Varric asked.

“Eleanor is in Skyhold with Cass,” Moira answered.

Varric laughed. “I still can’t believe you named your daughter after the Seeker, Knuckles.”

“It will help me to remember to call her _Divine Victoria_ when I see her, if someone else has claim to _Cassandra_.”


	4. The Wrench in the Plan

They stopped briefly at noon, sharing a hurried lunch of bread, cold ham and cheese courtesy of Hawke, and water from their skins. They had, surprisingly, run into no trouble at all. The wilderness around Kirkwall was home to dozens of hidden estates and smuggling dens, carved out of otherwise untamed woods. What little agriculture there was near the city was in the opposite direction from where they were headed.

“Fucking unnerving,” Hawke said, putting voice to the thoughts everyone else was having. “No wolves, no bears, no _squirrels_. Even the birds are distant, like they’re hiding in the treetops.”

“We need a real Warden,” Moira said a bit sadly. “I’m sure there are darkspawn about, it’s the only reason the wildlife would disappear so completely.”

“You can’t sense them at all anymore?” Varric asked.

“Not at all. Worst part of being cured was when I couldn’t sense other wardens anymore, or be sensed _by_ other wardens. Alistair panicked when Evelyn cured me and I vanished from his perception.”

“Evelyn cured you?” Hawke asked, surprised. “I thought it was Dagna?”

Evelyn shook her head. “Dagna figured it out, and there’s usually four of us working together. The anchor is what powers it, but there are several other things that have to be done as well. It’s… complicated.”

While Hawke mulled that over, Varric asked “So where are we headed to, actually?”

“An estate,” Moira replied. “An old empty one, according to Leliana, and half falling down. She couldn’t find out who it had originally belonged to, and it has been squatted in for so long it might not have a name anymore.”

“Its not far from the Viscount’s old winter home,” Hawke said suddenly. “When we get Bianca, we can fall back to there, as long as we’re not identified. I’ve been meaning to make a trip out and see what kind of shape it was in.”

Varric grunted. “I know the place. Used it once, even.”

Evelyn looked pleasantly surprised. “Well, then, you’ll earn your keep. You can guide us through the place.”

“Would have been faster to just take the road,” he continued. “Avoid this mucking about in the woods.”

Hawke snorted. “Faster, yes. But if you’ve been there, you know the road is clearly visible for miles from what’s left of the tower. This is a stealth mission, Varric, remember?”

“When were you there?” Varric asked.

“Merc mission, in the first  year Carver and I lived in Kirkwall, while I was paying off our debt. Before I met you.”

He grunted. “I thought I knew all your stories.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk. I learned about Bianca from _Evelyn_ , you ass. Don’t give me any lip about unshared stories.”

The dwarf wisely fell silent.

Moira threw out a hand, hissing for them to stop. Once they were silent and still, the other three could hear it: something large moving in the woods, multiple large somethings. And then a shrill shout that chilled their blood. Moira instantly slung her shield into place and jerked her sword out of its scabbard while Hawke’s staff began to glow coldly blue. Bianca was out and the safety off. Evelyn had utterly vanished.

“Go get ‘em, Switch,” Varric urged, patting the butt of his crossbow. “We got your back.”

Moira shook her head. “Can’t tell how many…”

“Fifteen,” Evelyn’s voice ghosted down from somewhere overhead. She’d climbed a tree to find a vantage. “They’re a rear guard. They’re standing around the hole they likely oozed out of.”

“Kill them, plug the hole, cut off the reinforcements. Then we can hunt down the rest and save me and my Guard a bucket of trouble,” Hawke gritted, swirling her staff.

“Big damn heroes,” Evelyn agreed, dropping to the ground silently.

Moira rolled her eyes. She still hesitated.

“I’ve cured you once, you big sissy, I can do it again,” Evelyn said, kicking her friend lightly in the ass. “Just don’t let them touch you and we’ll be fine.”

“I’ve never fought darkspawn without either being a warden or being escorted by wardens,” she said, her voice practically dripping with worry. “This is… insane. How do you do it?”

“The same way you fight anything else,” Varric said gently. “You still have the advantage of experience and training.”

“And the element of surprise if you hurry your ass up,” Evelyn added.

“Evelyn,” Varric started, but Moira waved him off. “No, she’s right. She knows me well enough to know I just need a kick…”

“I will kick you again,” the Inquisitor offered.

Moira barked a laugh and then charged out of the brush.

Three hurlocks were down before the rest knew they were being attacked. Moira was immediately swarmed. She focused on keeping their attention – which was almost too easy – while Varric picked them off one by one and Hawke made sure half of them were frozen at any given time. Evelyn, who had vanished again, was ranging around the perimeter, taking down the four genlock archers and grimly making her way to the emissary who was standing his ground at the cave entrance. Red light was building between his hands, and Evelyn knew he was preparing a fireball to launch at her allies.

He noticed her a moment too late. His left hamstrung was cut, and once he was on the ground, the red light sputtering out, Evelyn jerked his head back and slit his throat. She swung him around, directing the sudden stream of blood away from her, and thrust a dagger into his heart, twisting it just to be sure. She turned to run back and aid her comrades, but the last hurlock was hitting the ground, Moira straightening up with a smile.

“Good little fight,” she said approvingly, giving herself a quick check for injuries. Varric and Hawke were doing the same.

“Unscathed?” Evelyn asked, trotting over. It was hard to tell if all the blood was from the darkspawn. “Here, let me check…”

The anchor suddenly flared to life, and she lifted her left hand up, palm out to face her three companions, and closed her eyes. Varric openly flinched and Hawke’s body tensed, but Moira just took a deep breath and waited. After a few moments, the green light died and Evelyn dropped her hand. “Taint _everywhere_ but none of it seems to be in any of us. I think we’re good.”

“Do me a favor and never aim that thing at me again,” Varric gritted, barely suppressing a shudder.

“What did you just do?” Hawke asked, as she crossed the battlefield to the hole in the ground.

“I’ve been using the anchor to pull the taint out of things – rabbits with blight sickness first, before graduating to real wardens,” Evelyn replied, following the mage. “The darkspawn come from the Fade, and the anchor is a way of drawing the energy of the Fade into the waking world. I’ve gotten a feel for what the taint looks like, _feels like_ might be a better phrase. So I opened up the anchor and used the energy to feel for the taint, to try to find any in you. It’s not foolproof, but I feel better for having done it.”

Hawke nodded absently as she studied the cave – a glorified hole in the ground, really – and then gestured Evelyn back. As the rogue retreated, Hawke focused her mana on a series of boulders nearby, and suddenly the ground collapsed under them. A plume of dust billowed out of the hole in front of her, and then the mouth collapsed in on itself. Another gesture from Hawke and a dead tree nearby rolled itself over and covered what was left of the hole.

“They can dig the old gods out of their prisons, so I won’t say they can’t overcome this,” she said, dusting herself off. “But it should hold them for awhile, at least. Long enough for us to hunt and kill however many have already come out.”

“You think there’s more of them?” Evelyn asked.

Moira nodded quickly. “The forest has been too quiet for too long as we’ve traveled. These were a rear guard, like you said. There’s at least one scouting party out there, although not likely more than two. We would have heard about marauding darkspawn by now if there any more than that.”

“We need to find a place to wash up,” Hawke said, and then motioned for them to follow her. “Wandering around covered in tainted gore never did anyone any good. There’s a stream this way, won’t be too far out of our way.”

It added half a mile or so to their walk, but the water was cool and clear. Rather than wade in and endanger the stream, Hawke aimed her staff at the ground and created a channel for the water to form a small pool. They took turns rinsing off their skin and armor, and double checked there were no injuries.

“Not a scratch,” Varric said proudly. “Its almost like we’ve all done this before.”

“Don’t jinx it, dwarf,” Eelyn grunted, but she was smiling widely.

They didn’t run into any more darkspawn, and as the sun dipped towards evening Moira was starting to worry.

“We should have found them by now.”

“We’re only a quarter of a mile from where they’re holding Bianca,” Hawke answered, gesturing to a wrecked tower that could just barely be seen through a gap in the trees. “We get in, get her out, and get her to safety. Then we can spend as much time darkspawn hunting in the woods as you would like. Hell, we could send for the Guard to come do a full sweep of these woods. But we get the hostage out first.”

“You’re right,” Moira said with a defeated wave. “Its hard to keep my priorities realigned. A warden would always hunt the ‘spawn first.”

“Good thing you’re not a warden anymore,” Evelyn said lightly. Moira ruffled the Inquisitor’s hair in response.

“Remind me to introduce you to Fergus,” Moira said as they waited for Hawke to choose the path they would take up to the ruined estate. “We’ll make you an honorary Cousland.”

Evelyn grinned at the Queen. “I’m already an honorary Theirin. Would it make things weird for you and Alistair if I was both?”

“Nah, nobility marries within families all the time.”

Hawke was running through the woods back to them, then, quickly coming into view around a corner. “We’ve got a problem,” she called. Someone was chasing her, or perhaps following a bit behind.

Varric was running, then, a dead sprint to meet them. Hawke blew past him and charged straight to the other two women. “We found our darkspawn,” she said in a rush. “They overran the estate not two hours ago.”

They all three turned and looked back, just as the new arrival launched into Varric’s arms.


	5. Never Saw it Coming

“Wait,”  Malikai said, shaking his head. “You went to all that trouble and the hostage you were trying to rescue just ran out to meet you? And that didn’t tip you off that something else was going on?”

“You can’t fake darkspawn,” Varric said grimly. “With both Corypheus and the Architect dead, there was no reason to think there was anything going on other than darkspawn showing up and putting a snag in the plans.”

“But the plans being snagged weren’t what you thought.”

“True,” Varric allowed, gesturing for Alvin to fetch them something to eat. “But trust me when I tell you I was being played by a master of the craft. Nobody could plan for the darkspawn.”

 

*

 

“What the hell happened?” Varric asked as he brought Bianca over to the rest of the party.

“I hid when the darkspawn came, obviously,” Bianca said easily, although the shake in her hands showed the bravado for what it was. “It was… bad. There isn’t anybody left alive. I waiting for an opening, and when I thought they were distracted I made my way out to the tree line. It took forever, but they flew into a rage about something and it was hard to anticipate where they would be. I was circling around the perimeter and aiming for the road when I saw your mage there waving at me and we made a break for it.”

“Were you followed?” Evelyn asked quickly.

Hawke shook her head as Bianca answered, “No, Inquisitor. We would have heard them. Whatever riled them up drove the subtlety right out of them.”

“We killed the emissary,” Moira said, nodding to Evelyn. “The spawn have a hive mind, they knew when their leader died. Our actions are what drove the darkspawn into a frenzy and put you at risk. I am sorry for that, Bianca.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Oh, right,” Varric said, turning to make the introductions. “Bianca Davri, you know Evelyn Trevelyan Rutherford, Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, and lately arlessa of Honnleath.”

Bianca inclined her head. She and the Inquisitor weren’t exactly friendly, but neither wished the other harm.

“The mage here is the one and only Marian Hawke, Viscountess of Kirkwall.”

Bianca’s eyes widened and she smiled widely at Hawke. “So pleased to finally meet you,” she said.

“Likewise,” Hawke said with a polite nod. “I’ve been saved by your namesake more times than I can count.”

Bianca laughed as Varric moved to the last of the three. “And our warrior friend here is Moira Cousland Theirin, former Warden Commander, current Queen, and Hero of Ferelden.”

“By the Ancestors, Varric, you’re moving up in the world.”

Hawke grunted. “Thanks.”

Evelyn laughed, although there was little humor in it. “In case you were wondering why nobody had met her,” she said in a low tone to Hawke, who barely suppressed a snort of laughter. Varric pointedly ignored them; Bianca appeared not to hear, as she was still exchanging polite greetings with Moira.

“This is one hell of a rescue party,” she said lightly.

“It seemed like the kind of rescue that needed to stay in the family,” Evelyn replied.

“We need to clear out the ‘spawn,” Moira said briskly. “If Bianca is freed, and her captors are dead, our next order of business has to be taking out the darkspawn in the ruin, now that they can’t retreat.”

“I hate to say it, but she’s right,” Varric agreed. “We should do it while we know where they are, before anybody else gets hurt.”

“How many of them are there?” Hawke asked Bianca, and the five of them leaned over a bare patch of earth and scratched out a plan of attack.

Fifteen minutes later they were crouched at the edge of the treeline at the back of the ruined estate.

“They’ve scattered,” Evelyn said, pointing out the darkspawn she could see. “They’re wandering aimlessly.”

“So we attract their attention and pull them to the choke point.” Moira said, looking around. “There.”

She indicated the arched entrance to a walled garden.

“Done,” Hawke agreed. Evelyn and Varric nodded, and Bianca silently began to pick her way to the chosen spot. The little dwarven smith was unarmed, having made her escape without an opportunity to find her weapons. She had volunteered to find a vantage point and keep track of the darkspawn and make sure none tried to flank the four fighters. Without a leader, it was unlikely to be a problem, but none of them had survived this long by throwing caution to the wind.

Varric started them off by putting a bolt in the eye of a genlock archer who had been stationed inside a section of collapsed wall on the second floor of the house. It was like kicking a beehive; the darkspawn instantly began milling around, searching for the culprit.

Varric and Hawke picked off four more archers before they were found. Moira stood just outside the wall, and called something to the hurlock that spotted her as it came around the corner of the house, a gutteral and ugly sound that seemed obscene in her mouth.

“The fuck was that?” Evelyn asked as Moira stepped inside the garden and planted herself a few paces back from the arched entryway.

“The darkspawn don’t have much by way of language, but they definitely have insults.”

“You speak darkspawn?” she whispered, incredulous.

“No. But whatever that is, it _works_.”

She was immediately proven right as four enraged hurlocks reached the garden gate at the same time and jostled to be the first inside. Evelyn took a deep breath and seemed to disappear. Varric put bolts into two of them before they could get through the narrow entry, and Hawke slowed one down so that a single hurlock staggered towards Moira. She put her shield up in time for its corpse to bounce against it, Evelyn’s daggers having near split him in two from behind. The battle was going almost effortlessly well – the choke point and their teamwork making short work of the rampaging darkspawn – until Bianca screamed from her spot at the top of the wall behind them.

“OGRE!”

Moira and Evelyn exchanged a look of pure annoyance, which served only to make Hawke laugh as the ground started to rumble beneath their feet. Moira ran to the archway, hoping her being in range would keep the ogre from tearing apart the wall to get to her.

Instead, it charged, knocking her back to fly ten paces through the air and bounce off a hedge. She got up quickly, but not in time to get her shield up.

“No!” Evelyn screamed. As Hawke threw a stone fist to stagger the beast back and buy Moira a moment to position herself, Evelyn flung out her left hand and opened a rift on the ogre’s head.

It was hard – harder than anything she had ever done, harder even than closing the Breach. Varric shot bolts in a continuous stream into the few darkspawn left milling around the garden while Hawke focused on keeping the ogre directly under the rift with stone fists and ice walls. Moira ran to Evelyn’s side to protect her from any stray darkspawn while she focused on the open rift.

It tore the ogre into pieces, disintegrating it and dragging the gory remnants into the Fade.

As the last of it disappeared into the swirling green, the rift snapped closed and Evelyn collapsed into a heap on the ground. There were only a handful of hurlocks left, and Moira, enraged, sliced one in half while Varric spitted the other and Hawke dashed to Evelyn’s side.

“Did she get hit?” Hawke said, checking Evelyn for injuries. “I don’t see any…”

“It’s exhaustion,” Moira said, wiping her sword clean and sheathing it while Varric nodded agreement. “Although I didn’t know the anchor could do _that_.”

“She can’t do it very often,” Varric said, kneeling quickly to check Evelyn’s pulse and reassure himself that she was alright. “I didn’t know she _could_ still do it, not since the orb and the Breach were destroyed. When we sealed the Breach for the last time, the anchor and the rifts all disappeared and we thought that was the end of it. I guess we were wrong.”

“The anchor is permanent, Dagna said,” Moira replied. “The way it was explained to me, the anchor is a connection to the Fade, like a mage’s dreams. When the Breach was active, and there were open rifts everywhere, it was easier to access the Fade energies. Once it closed, it was still accessible but at a higher cost.”

Varric shook his head. “So this shit could still kill her.”

Moira quickly disagreed. “No. She specifically asked, and Solas said it wouldn’t hurt her.”

Varric spun around to grab her by the elbows. “What do you mean, she asked Solas?”

“She found him in the Fade,” Moira replied. “Look, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way to the old Viscount’s estate, if that’s where we’re still going?”

“I think it’s our best option at this point,” Hawke replied. “It looks like rain, and I doubt any of us wants to shelter here.”

Bianca had made her way off the wall and was headed into the estate to find her weapons and other belongings. Varric quickly jogged over to join her, and inspected the bodies of her captors while Moira and Hawke devised a way to get Evelyn mobile.

“Slavers,” Varric said, kicking one of the bodies. “Same people who grabbed you?”

Bianca shot him an unreadable look. “No. I couldn’t tell you who grabbed me. This is just who I ended up with.”

“Did you get a look at who caught you?”

“We can talk about this later, Varric. The Inquisitor is unconscious outside, or did you forget?”

He waved a hand, dismissively. “She’s fine. Just tired.”

“And if we run into more darkspawn? Or, ancestors preserve us, a rift?”

“There were no rifts in the Free Marches as far as we know. But I get your point. This isn’t over until we find out who actually pinched you, though; we have to keep them from trying again, or trying something worse.”

“Shelter first,” Bianca insisted. She had a grimy knapsack clutched in her arms and her daggers strapped to her back. “This is everything. Let’s go.”

Moira and Hawke had rigged up a stretcher for Evelyn, with two poles slid through a bedroll. As the dwarves approached, the two humans lifted the stretcher and settled the Inquisitor’s sleeping form between them. They made their way to the road, choosing speed over stealth and merely hoping the darkspawn had been dealt with. It was several miles down the road to the old Viscount’s estate, and twilight had passed into full dark by the time they reached the branch in the road that signified the end of their trek.

Not two paces up the narrow lane, the sky opened up into a sudden and violent downpour. They dashed to the nearest trees, dragging the unconscious Evelyn into what little shelter they could.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Evelyn muttered suddenly, and Varric – who had been leading them, dwarven eyes being better in the darkness – stopped and helped Moira and Hawke put the Inquisitor down. “Gah, you could have just woken me up.”

“We tried,” Varric said darkly, and Evelyn huffed an apology.

“Where are we?”

“Just turned off the road. The Viscount’s estate is at the end of this lane.”

Evelyn shook herself, shrugging her shoulders and jogging in place. “Okay. I got this. I can walk up one measly lane.”

They waited a few minutes for the rain to slow, Varric and Hawke promising the storms in Kirkwall that time of year were always brief. It took twenty minutes, but the rain died down into a steady drizzle and they slogged through the fresh mud towards the silent building ahead.

As they approached the dark estate, Varric froze and put up one hand in a closed fist. “The house is occupied.”

Bianca snorted. “Aren’t they all?”

“How can you tell?” Hawke asked, drifting closer.

“Listen hard – there’s horses somewhere near by. You can keep people quiet but not their horses.”

“Did the old Viscount leave staff out here? Maybe there are servants and mounts still here from before Hawke took over,” Moira suggested. “I know Cailan’s staff didn’t all get fired when he died. It was two years before we figured out where all of our holdings were.”

Hawke shrugged. “Its possible. We should be on guard, but we should ask questions before stringing anybody up.”

Nods all around signified agreement, and they crept up to the house.

“Door’s locked,” Hawke said, checking the latch.

“I’m on it,” Evelyn replied. Varric watched over her shoulder as she worked the lock picks out of her sleeve and went to work on the tumblers. It took a lot longer than he expected. “What the fuck kind of lock do you have on this door, Hawke?” she grunted as she worked.

“Don’t ask me, I didn’t have the damn thing installed.”

“Could you be a little quieter?” Varric hissed. “We still don’t know who’s in there.”

The lock clicked open and Evelyn sighed with relief. “I need to get a few of these to practice on. Alright, here we go.”

She pushed the door open, and Varric found himself the first through the door.

The mat in front of the door had been warded with an alarm, and the second his foot touched it, the room lit up like noon and a piercing shriek rang out. Varric threw himself to the side, rolling to avoid a projectile or trap, and came up in a roll to find the room filled from wall to wall with people.

“SURPRISE!”


	6. The Gift

Dumbfounded, he looked from face to face – every one of them familiar, every one of them a friend or ally or revered acquaintance. A mug of beer was being pressed into his hands as he was pulled into the room – by Aveline, no less.

“Happy birthday, Varric,” Hawke whispered in his ear, as Fenris crossed the room to shake his hand and wrap an arm around Marian.

“No shit,” the storyteller said, shaking his head.

Evelyn was being addressed sternly by a very serious Cullen, and Moira was laughing and bumping shoulders with Alistair. Bianca had vanished, but Varric was confident she was somewhere nearby. “Come on, we’ll get you all washed up and then we’ll get the party going,” Aveline said, drawing the new arrivals out of the room.

Thirty minutes later, clean and dry and wearing clothes that had been brought for them by other partygoers, Varric and the three lying bastards who had coerced him into this met on the third floor landing of Hawke’s estate.

“It was my idea,” Evelyn said immediately. “Not the party – that was Hawke – but the plot with Bia… Beatrice, we have decided to call her for tonight. She’s already wandering around downstairs establishing her identity as one of your cousins, Beatrice Tollar, of the smith caste. I hope you can remember that. She was never in any danger.”

“Bullshit she wasn’t,” Varric started, but Hawke put a hand to his shoulder.

“She agreed to everything beforehand,” Moira said. “You know it was her handwriting in that letter. It will please you to know it cost the Inquisition a pretty penny to get her to sign on, too. Fenris was tracking some slavers and found their hideout. The plan was for Bianca to hide out nearby, and for us to wipe out a slaver party. Once the slavers were gone, Bianca comes out of hiding and we continue down the road. Little bit of fun, get rid of some slavers, everybody wins. Nobody can plan for darkspawn, Varric, you know that. We didn’t know they were out there when we started this, there have been no reports of any trouble. We might have saved a lot of lives with this stunt.”

“It is your birthday, Varric,” Evelyn chimed in before he could argue. “You are so important to so many people, and you are worth a bit of effort. We all thought about what we could possibly give you… and we decided the best present was a story. So here you go: your campaign against darkspawn with Marian, Moira, and Evelyn.”

“And better,” Hawke said right on top of Evelyn, the three women speaking fast to stay ahead of him, “everyone at the party has agreed to sign a card saying they were here specifically to honor you. We’ve got it on an easel by the bar. We’re signing nondisclosure agreements, so you can say _whatever you want_ about this party and we will all refuse to confirm or deny it. All anyone will say is that they were here.”

“And wait until you see the guest list,” Moira added, taking him by the shoulder and drawing him to the stairs.

“We’ve got a Wicked Grace table all set up for you,” Evelyn added, walking backwards down the stairs.

“And we all pitched in to stock the bar,” Hawke added, following on his heels. “Everything you could want to drink we’ve got.”

“Alright, alright, I give,” Varric said, laughing, and Evelyn did a cartwheel to the bottom of the stairs.

The Inquisitor waited until the other three got to the next landing, and she sprung down the stairs headfirst, catching the middle step with her hands and springing off so she somersaulted into the main hall. With a flourish and a series of flips and cartwheels, she sprang onto the bar and called for attention.

“Hello!” She called, and a cacophony of voices shouted a return greeting.

“As you know, we are here in honor of the one and only Varric Tethras!”

The windows rattled with the accompanying roar. The kegs had been broached well before the guest of honor arrived.

“With that in mind, we have a few rules for tonight! As you know, everyone here MUST sign the card saying you were present, and you MUST agree to NEVER confirm nor deny any story Varric has chosen to tell about tonight. We’ve all trusted him with our lives, we can trust him with our reputations!”

There were some mixed responses to that statement, but they were all bookended with laughter.

“Next! If Varric tells you to drink, _you drink_. If Varric tells you to sit at a table and play Wicked Grace, _you play_. If Varric tells you to get him a drink, you tell him to _fuck right off_ and get it _himself_.”

Another rowdy cheer rose, and with no further ado, Evelyn made a grand gesture to the stairwell, where Varric was just stepping down from the final stair. With another round of applause, the party went into full swing.

Moira had been right; the guest list was impressive. In addition to the leaders of Kirkwall, Ferelden, and the Inquisition, nearly every country in Thedas was represented. The family names of the nobility alone were dizzying: Montilyet, Hawke, Vael, Guerrin, Pavus, Trevelyan, Theirin, Cousland, Tilani, de Chevin, de Fer, and perhaps most notably, Penteghast.

Divine Victoria had made the trip back to Kirkwall for Varric’s birthday, although she was introducing herself as Cassandra Penteghast and rather stoutly refusing to answer to her new Chantry moniker. She had signed Varric’s card with her given name, as well.

The former Seeker was being introduced by Cullen to Aveline and the Fereldan monarchs; Evelyn made her way straight to them, wrapping Cassandra in a tight embrace.

“You named your daughter after me!” the Divine said, eyes welling up with tears. “I must stop in Skyhold on the way back to meet her.”

“We will have to bring her to visit you, too. As often as possible,” Evelyn agreed. The Inquisitor didn’t stay long with that group, muttering something about shield techniques as she turned away to mingle.

Varric had made a single circuit around the room and then settled in at the Wicked Grace table, calling people over to play on what could have been a whim, had it been anyone but Varric. His first group was Josephine Montilyet, Leliana, Zevran Araini, Isabela and the Iron Bull. Eventually everyone cycled through the table under Varric’s careful eye; he watched the rest of the party while getting some serious wish fulfillment at the Wicked Grace table.

Every ten minutes, his voice would ring out with a name and the laughing command, “Drink!” It was Evelyn’s name far more often than she would have liked, but she had earned this punishment by dreaming up the party to begin with.

The night for Evelyn turned into drunken vignettes.

The way the room swayed when you viewed it upside-down from a swinging chandelier.

A knife-throwing contest with Zevran and Isabela.

Varric, Leliana, Sera, and Sebastian Vael having an archery contest, aiming at frozen projectiles Dorian created.

Evelyn sitting on Cassandra’s shoulders while Leliana perched on Moira’s and the four of them fought to stay upright while standing on top of the bar; the Queen and the Seeker pounding relentlessly on each other with shields.

Sera stretched out and giggling on a banner torn down from the library wall that was held tight by half of Bull’s Chargers, and being tossed in the air, caught, and tossed up again.

Evelyn jumping onto the banner with her and the two of them trying to out-do one another’s acrobatics.

Leliana jumping on with them and the banner tearing in half.

A new banner being found that was stronger than the last.

Hawke taking over bartending duties, and doing a shot with everyone at the party, one at a time.

Dagna and  _Beatrice_ with their heads together, sketching rapidly on a scrap of paper between them.

And through it all, the stories, the endless stories. At any point in time there were three people in different places of the hall telling a story about Varric or that they thought Varric would like to hear. And the dwarf heard them all.

 

*

 

Breakfast was served the next day promptly at noon.

Vivienne had a horrific hangover cure concocted that worked wonders if you could keep it down, and did almost as much good if you couldn’t. Cullen and Alistair, who had stayed sober out of concern for the darkspawn and a mutual distaste for overindulgence, managed to keep their smugness to a minimum as their wives and friends staggered about and prepared to leave.

Most of the party was taking Isabela’s ship across the Waking Sea to the port the Inquisition had established on the Storm Coast, and separating from there. As they disembarked, they carefully put back on their other identities: Evelyn led the Inquisition and Divine Victoria back to Skyhold, the King & Queen of Ferelden accompanying them to retrieve their daughter from the relative safety of the fortress. Zev was doing some work in Orlais for Celene, and the rest of the Fereldan nobility – including Fergus Cousland and Teagan Guerrin – returned to their holdings to the east.

And Varric returned to his room on the second floor of the Hanged Man.

“I still don’t know if I can believe it,” Malikai said, shaking his head.

Varric barked a laugh. “You don’t have to take it on faith,” he said happily. “I got the signed card, remember?”

He stood and lifted a box out from where it had sat, safe beneath his seat. He flipped the lid up and slid the wooden frame across the table to Malikai.

Inside, under a heavy sheet of glass, was a large square document that perfectly filled the box, as if one had been made for the other. And scrawled across the paper were the names – the signatures – of nearly every important person in southern Thedas. Cassandra Pentaghast, Cullen Rutherford, Marian Hawke, Vivienne de Fer, Moira Cousland Theirin, Alistair Theirin, and in a heavy scrawl across the bottom: Evelyn Trevelyan Rutherford, _Herald of fucking Andraste, just for you, Varric._

Malikai gazed at Varric in awe. “Yeah…” he said slowly. “This could sell.”


End file.
